The Grimgaunt Hounds of Death (or how the engineer got to drink the Marquis' Ale)

Summary: Dark lords are one thing but times of peace can try even the greatest heroes and their noble lord... Involves curried fowl, strong ale, hangovers and imminently visiting kings...
Dogs also

Grimgaunt Hounds

‘YapYapYapYapYap!’

His Lordship the Marquis Grimgaunt
was not in good humour. His name aside
- and while ‘jovial’ wouldn’t be the first term a bard would reach for in some
composition in his honour – he wasn’t commonly a man of dark demeanour. However...

‘YapYapYapYapYap!’

There was, in fact, particular reason
for the clenched frown on his noble brow, the twitch of lip, the jaw ache from
gritted teeth.

‘YapYapYapYapYap!’

It had been many scores of years
since the last ‘dark lord’ had been thwarted, smote, and generally and
comprehensively had an end put to them in heroic fashion by some motley band of
over-skilled bravados, their armies crushed by those of the right, their fortress blown apart by the cataclysmic puissance
of some erupting thaumaturgic something
at the climax. Such a personage, then, was not the cause.

‘YapYapYapYapYap!’

And no, it wasn’t specifically because his favourite
hunting hound had barked his last.

He’d loved the hound dearly of course,
couldn’t bring himself to replace him in the hunt – or go hunting therefore. The
mighty Cerberus, once a mirror of the vigour the now not-so-young Marquis
fancied he retained, had snuffled to his last, mostly deaf, slightly lame and
crapping more than he ate (or so it seemed to all concerned).

So no, it wasn’t specifically because
his beloved companion had snuffled off the mortal coil. It was, however,
related.

The counsel of the Marquis’ closest
advisors was that the fief was long overdue a visit by The King on his tour of
the Kingdom, and a hunt would certainly be expected. So, given that he’d failed
to choose a replacement, the Marquis had sent a number of said counsellors
along with his Master of Hounds on a trip to do the job for him, before the
expected rains came. And it was a trip to which they were all looking forward,
and all would have worked out fine; had Lady Grimgaunt not decided that she
fancied a day or so out as well and that she would join the excursion.

To Lord Grimgaunt it had seemed the
perfect situation: he would be spared a troublesome choice, he’d have a few
days without his wife and – as a complete bonus (Thank you good Lord!) - that gossiping gaggle of harridans that
were her ladies reeve were going to boot.

‘YapYapYapYapYap!’

And a lovely few days he’d had!

He’d stayed up late with his court
magician, his chaplain, Ser Gavin, and a bunch of the other boys who weren’t on
the tour, and they’d had that special ale he’d been saving that the Abbott had
sent. He’d had curried goat followed by curried partridge followed by curried
guinea fowl - and there was no one to complain about the results other than the
Master of Wardrobe who bore the smell of his master’s bedroom the next morning
with the straightest face he could muster; and, having thus curried favour,
he’d got a well deserved rest of day off because of it.

In fact, Lord Grimgaunt thought, he’d
rather come through the grieving process. Yes, it was all working out fine.

‘YapYapYapYapYap!’

There was just one thing. Lady
Grimgaunt had decided to get involved in the choosing of the Marquis next hound
(well no one had told her not to and, when it came to it, no one was going to).
So rather than another alaunt, a mastiff or a greyhound, the rather sheepish
men returned with Lady Grimgaunt, her ladies reeve, and...

‘YapYapYapYapYap!’

...a yapping rat.

‘Look at what we brought you!’ said
the Marchioness, ‘Isn’t he adorable?
Don’t you think he’s adorable?’

Lord Grimgaunt did not.

‘YapYapYapYapYap!’ went the yapping rat. In fact it hadn’t stopped. It would be wrong to
say it was not a sweet faced creature mind, just at it would be wrong to say
Lady Brigit of Merrivale wasn’t a sweet faced creature - less so that she
wasn’t a meddling trollop who’d benefit from a good turn in the stocks.

They actually looked quite similar now
Lord Grimgaunt thought on it, observing said trollop simpering behind his wife;
when he looked he found himself slightly surprised that there wasn’t a rotten
cabbage in his clenched hand.

If Lord Grimgaunt had been surprised
as to what he’d actually received (or that it was indeed a dog) he was no less
surprised to hear it was male. Even so, dogs weren’t called Colin; many men for
that matter.

Men were called Richard or Henry...
or Edward. Or John.

Lord Grimgaunt was called John. So were
a few kings for that matter. Not great ones in all honesty, but still. John was
a proper name for a man. And you called hounds things like ‘Lion’ and ‘Gerald’
and ‘Cerberus’, even ‘Gelert’ depending on where you were from; you didn’t call
a hound Colin.

The Marquis sighed. He could have
done a lot worse than her, and he did love his wife. She was far from
unappealing to look on even now, sported a pleasingly expansive bosom (or, as
the peasants commented, ‘had a great rack and
not the kind that helps you reach whatever minimum height requirements are needed
for the role of confessor’), had given him enough sons to more or less secure
his line, and if she was one of those
scheming power-behind-the-throne types she’d hidden it so incredibly well as to
more than deserve whatever she’d achieved as a result. This latter possibility
was highly unlikely however; she was demonstrably too impulsive for such
intrigues, as evidenced by the thing in front of him.

‘YapYapYapYapYap!’

‘Dear,’ he began, ‘I can not go hunting with the King with that.’

‘Well that’s just as well! You’d just
get all mucky wouldn’t you?’ she questioned it, ‘Wouldn’t you? Yes, and
probably be gobbled up by some horrible old boar! And we wouldn’t want that
would we? Would we?’

On this Lord Grimgaunt kept his counsel, and the advisors who’d
accompanied the Marchioness, and singularly failed to provide theirs in any useful manner, knew that
they were due an immediate return. And a return trip come shine or rain of the
kind associated with disgruntled sanctified bishops working posthumous miracles
when their preference of burial had not been honoured.

The Marquis didn’t remonstrate with
his wife however, now heading inside with the ridiculous thing, correctly assuming
that she’d already taken ownership of it, but incorrectly that he wouldn’t have
to have anything further to do with... Colin.

So it was that the next day the
Marquis found himself on a tour of the castle (overdue due to digestive
complications from the particular alchemy of diversified curries and monastic
ale) carrying his wife’s new pet; the
better, as she put it, to get to know
one other. She would brook no argument and walked off to make someone else’s
life bothersome, this, at least, being a relief.

The Marquis’
subjects were respectfully wary.

One of the things about being a noble
was that you needed to know how to keep your subjects in line. In no sense was
the Marquis a tyrant however; he was, in fact, rather well liked by the lowborn
folk. He didn’t generally bother them, didn’t impose punitive taxes, and
secretly bunged them collectively a good return if they brought in a decent
harvest... and usually if they didn’t. Every peasant he passed, not to mention
the guards, knew a good thing when they had it, knew also from the nuances of
their lord’s expression that this amicable state of affairs was entirely in the
balance: not one of them would blab about their noble lord carrying whatever it was around the castle
grounds.

‘YapYapYapYapYap!’

The Marquis was accompanied by his
chaplain and court magician, two persons that might reasonably be assumed to be
less than compatible, even given the restraint expected of two senior courtiers.
And, in fairness, both took care to periodically display due antagonism, for
show if nothing else.

‘Godless heathen... hellfire,
damnation and all that,’ muttered the cleric dutifully, having spotted a
sundial that seemed to indicate it was probably time for another tirade.

‘Credulous simpleton, ignorant
peasant etcetera etcetera,’ the wizard riposted with equal vehemence while
picking a small bone he’d just discovered in his occupational length beard.
‘Ooh, perhaps I shouldn’t have had that last curried partridge.’

‘Still feeling it? You’re not the
only one, I can tell you.’

The castle inspection continued and shortly
they came to the siege engines. More commonly used to gain entry to a castle in
a ‘you didn’t answer so I kept knocking and the wall came down’ kind of way,
there seemed no particular reason not to have some to hand to reply ‘I heard
you knocking and seem to have broken your hand with my war engine’. Also it was
a chance for the engineer to show off the latest style and fashion of remote larger
scale destruction, ready the unlikely event that someone was both so supremely stupid
and sufficiently capable enough to threaten the land with strife once again.

‘YapYapYapYapYap!’

‘And the additional tension this Ingenium - ballista if you’d rather Your
Lordship - can now take should mean that the bolts can pierce up to four enemies at a time.’

Thwunk! went
the ballista, the bolt making a not dissimilar noise as it punctured the first
three of five grain-stuffed dummies (who hadn’t been doing anything
particularly treasonous) to prod the fourth in the chest.

‘Very good, very good,’ the Marquis
noted having the grace not to point out that it hadn’t quite achieved the
promised levels of personal violence, but added, ‘Just have to ask the enemy to
stand in a column then.’

‘Oh very good, Your Lordship, very
droll,’ the chagrined engineer forced with an unconvincing chuckle. He was
still new and yet to cotton on that the latest Lord Grimgaunt wasn’t one for
grovelling, fawning, fakery or yes-men; the new lad wouldn’t be included in a
round of the Abbott’s special ale any time soon, whether or not he might regret
it the morning after.

‘YapYapYapYapYap!’

‘Moving on,’ said Lord Grimgaunt. The
young engineer detailed a few of the more recent insights into the application
of battering rams, showed his new plans for a siege tower and was unable not to
share his excitement at the idea of placing a ballista atop one, with horses
reined beneath. He was keen to keep it secret, however, and had labelled the
rough schematic as a ‘water carrier’ just to be sure. He seemed typical of a
newer generation of young freemen, fired up and ambitious, yet perhaps lacking
context: say, for example, the fact that no one had wanted a war of any kind
for a good long while.

‘Very good, very good.’

The Marquis felt something land on
his foot as he noted his approval, only to find something that he couldn’t
approve of less on one article of his favourite footwear.

‘YapYapYapYapYap!’ said Colin.

‘Now Your Grace,’ the engineer
continued, ‘I’m particularly pleased with the trebuchet. I confess I don’t know
quite what happened with the ballista. But I think you’ll find that the
increased dimensions won’t compromise the engine’s stability or integrity, and
will launch your preferred payload a good deal further than the last design.
Shall I?’

The Marquis nodded, words echoing
through his head. A good deal further...
good deal further...

The engineer had his assistants set
the horse plodding against the enormous counterweights, then, when it was in
place load a substantial piece of masonry on the engines arm.

‘YapYapYapYapYap!’

...deal further...

‘Three!’ began the engineer.

...preferred payload...

‘Two!’ the engineer continued.

...launch your...

‘YapYapYapYapYap!’

‘One! Cut!’

...further...

‘YapYapYapYapYeeeeeeeewwwwlllp!’ said Lady Grimgaunt’s dog.

The creature described a graceful arc
into the air and, with the stone for company, disappeared over the outer walls
that encircled Grimgaunt Castle.

They stood in silence for a moment,
Lord Grimgaunt working through what had just happened in his head. He salved a
twinge of conscience with the fact that he’d barely been conscious of what he’d
just done while he was doing it.

‘I don’t suppose,’ Lord Grimgaunt
began, ‘it might have been able to chew the ropes...’

‘While our backs were turned,’ added
the Cleric.

‘Having jumped down and onto the
sling,’ the Wizard completed the picture.

The Marquis nodded to himself, rubbed
his neck in a fashion that those close to him might recognise as a feeling of
awkwardness and possibly guilt.

‘Would you like me to dig into the
psalms and find something appropriately absolving Your Grace?’ the Cleric
asked. ‘Or I could just put a little extra into the prayer fund if it would make
you feel better...’

‘No, no,’ said Lord Grimgaunt, ‘You
know I make my own peace with the Lord; I will pray myself.’

‘That Lady Grimgaunt doesn’t find
out?’ the Wizard enquired.

‘For one thing.’ He turned to the
Chaplain, confusion writ across his noble brow. ‘I’m troubled... by the fact
that I don’t feel so troubled.’

‘The Lord knows our hearts, Your
Grace, and I have no doubt that if the scales of judgement have in any respect
tipped, it will be to the most inconsequential degree: nothing next to the
weights of righteousness my lord has placed opposite already through his good
works.’

The Cleric indicated the trebuchets
counterweights as an example of the latter, having already described a small
size with his hands on the former, about the size of...

Well about the size of Colin.

‘In any case, I’m fairly certain I
once heard the High Pontiff himself note that God created things that yap to
test his own boundless patience, not that of us flawed mortals.’

‘And no-one’s going to say anything
to her Ladyship,’ said the Wizard waggling his fingers in a mystical sort of
way, regarding everyone present: not a
veiled threat of any variety, of course, just to emphasise that this was a particularly
useful idea that would be highly, perhaps mortally, beneficial to keep in mind.

Her Ladyship was distraught at the
creatures absence, more so when the body was finally found. More again when she
saw it.

The projectile boulder hadn’t landed
on and squished its canine companion as it turned out, though the impact of
landing had rather done the job itself. Lord Grimgaunt did find himself massaging
his neck rather a lot and asked his chaplain for a special service to
commemorate the (succinct) life of his wife’s beloved rodent.

It was an auspicious day for it. The
heavens opened with at least the approximate level of precipitous miracle-working
of some narked minor saint, lending a solemnity to the funerary proceedings.
The ceremony was conducted by the cleric with due gusto, and the Marquis was as
supportive as he felt he could be to his wife throughout the event. By the time
they settled for post-service cake (with handled goblets of that tea stuff from
the orient) and condolences were being given, Lord Grimgaunt was pretty
satisfied that the matter was at an end and that he could look forward to being
introduced to his new hound who he was, now, actually rather keen to meet.

The next, and much dryer and brighter
day, the Marquis was continuing the castle inspection with his closer retinue
when the hound-hunting party returned. He wasn’t, however, the first to see the
new arrival.

In retrospect he should probably have
guessed something was up when her Ladyship’s greasy little favourite Ser Percy
shot off a-horseback after her first throes of grief – and returned just ahead
of his party. The alarum bells might
well have starting ringing more loudly when Her Ladyship’s ladies scuttled
across the courtyard toward the barbican that morning, squawk-whispering
demurely behind their hands as they passed.

It wasn’t long after that that the Marquis, perambulating the
bailey and observing the guards huffing through their training drill, spotted
his wife coming from the gatehouse, cradling something in her arms, and heard
the first sounds that sent his good mood crashing back into the regions of
despair.

‘YipYipYipYipYip!’

Her Ladyship waved brightly. ‘Isn’t
he adorable?’ she cooed over, ‘He’s
called Colin the Second!’

It was perhaps fortunate that the
Marquis default expression was, like his name and that of his immediate fief if
not, again, his actual demeanour, a little grim; he was able to glower with
impunity back and forth between, well, pretty much everyone involved.

His returned courtiers looked, aside
from rather damp, even more red-faced than after their previous return. Lord
Grimgaunt suspected, rightly as it turned out, that they’d received a sealed
decree from her Ladyship to ‘assist Ser Percy in procuring His Grace’s next
hound’, which was ‘to be of similar breed and demeanour as dear Colin’. Later
he would have some sympathy for the men, but for now they correctly took their
Lord’s glower as news that they would shortly, very shortly, be subjected to another
return trip, on which he sincerely hoped for the kind of miraculous weather a
hacked off papal-league saint might posthumously bring to bear.

‘YipYipYipYipYip!’

He looked next to her Ladyship’s more
immediate entourage, in particular to the two that fussed on the new rat with
her, trying to discern which had nudged her hand to quill and quill to
parchment. Ser Percy himself was neither genuinely soppy enough to urge her to
seek a replacement, or sufficiently boneheaded to fail to recognise that he was
not yet secure enough in her favour to risk openly acting against her husband’s
preferences... or what those preferences would be. No, the Marquis looked
between the Ladies Brigit and Penelope.

He’d be wrong to think of Brigit as a
trollop - next to the other at least. Lady Penelope was, outwardly, the model
of virtue. She had volunteered the undergarment accessory of a chastity belt to
put her noble husband’s mind at ease that her wifely purity would remain intact
during his prolonged absences. Of course amongst the many members of the Earl’s
retinue through whom she’d diligently worked in a purely carnal sense was the
locksmith who’d made it - and both his apprentices for good measure - from whom
she’d acquired enough spare keys for themselves and, allegedly, the rest of the
court. Yet, aside from her clandestine brazenness, Lady Penelope was not a bad
sort. And while she fussed over the Marquis’ hounds’ replacement-replacement it occurred to him that it was far less
likely for her to be sufficiently mawkish over the departed creature as to
convince his wife what a good idea it would be to replace it with another.

No, that was more the calculated sort
of mischief that could be expected from Lady Brigit.

‘YipYipYipYipYip!’

‘I don’t suppose,’ said the Wizard to
the Cleric, ‘that the Good Lord might cast such lenience were some... trajectorial accident of the manner that
lost the court its previous beloved hound to tragically befall a certain
personage of Merrivale.’

‘The Lord’s mercy is without limit,’ replied
the Cleric, similarly noting his more earthly lords gaze moving from Lady
Brigit back to the engineers new catapult, ‘yet on the scales of judgement, and
with regard to the lessons of...’ he trailed off. ‘Urm, no basically.’

‘And no one would believe a similar
mishap to be the accident it surely would be,’ queried Ser Gavin, ‘were it to
befall the same breed of animal as before?’

They shook their heads sadly.

‘YipYipYipYipYip!’

‘Unless...’ heads turned to the new
voice that had added itself, somewhat nervously, to the conversation. It
belonged to the young engineer.

‘Unless?’ queried the Marquis.

‘Rope.’

‘Rope?’

‘Rope, Your Grace,’ the lad
continued, emboldened. ‘Why, I wouldn’t presume – with the many more important
matters which must occupy My Lord’s thoughts – that you would have had the time
or inclination to learn the details of such trifling matters as rope.’

The Marquis expression indicated him
to go on...

‘Well My Lord, as I’m sure these
learned gentlemen could substantiate, the best rope – in fact the only rope
that could stand the strain of the forces exerted by the engine that so sadly
caused the demise of Her Ladyship’s first pet, the type of rope required for the protection of the fief,
if not the country – is, by rare chance, possessed of the curious property as
to be irresistible to dogs of many, though not all, breeds.’

Yappy-type breeds no-one needed to clarify.

‘YipYipYipYipYip!’

‘Indeed, I believe I have read of this
particular trait of certain fibres,’ mused the cleric, adding, ‘though only in
very recent correspondence.’

‘Well of course,’ the wizard agreed,
‘these are the latest innovations in tactical capability: these quirks of
substance would only recently have come to light.’

‘And though there is no strife which
requires such capabilities...’ the Marquis posited, pre-empting a potential
flaw in otherwise sage reasoning.

‘I apologise for contradicting My
Lord,’ said the engineer, ‘but it is exactly by having such capabilities that such strife is avoided. A frozen war as I’ve heard it – everyone
has it so nobody tries it.’

The Marquis gaze turned back to Lady
Brigit.

‘YipYipYipYipYip!’

‘Of course,’ said the knight Ser
Gavin, ‘We could always just poison the bastard.’

‘No, no,’ said the Marquis. ‘No, Her
Ladyship does look rather happy, which in itself can be a reprieve from strife.
That we might become aware of such interesting properties of rope at some later
stage, should some misfortune happen to occur, is quite fortuitous enough. No,
I think I’d rather look to other things... such as the not too distant visit of
the King.

‘Thank you,’ he nodded to the
engineer, ‘please continue with your most important work in the defence of our
lands.’

The Wizard, Cleric and Knight looked
to each other, knowing they’d got the lad a little wrong, and that he might
just be sampling the Abbott’s special ale sooner than they thought. The Marquis
looked instead to the beleaguered party of procurers who were shame-facedly
approaching, ready for their lord’s wrath. His anger had abated however, and he
did feel some degree of sympathy for them. Still, his hound wasn’t going to
fetch itself.

And he was the Lord round here after
all.

‘YipYipYipYipYip!’

Over on the other side of the bailey,
under the engineer’s instruction, the sling arm of the trebuchet was being
hauled down, pivoting on the fulcrum, ready for use.

Write a Review
Did you enjoy my story? Please let me know what you think by leaving a review! Thanks,
TimBayley

abbiekelly18:
Wow. Just wow! I loved this book. Yeah I was getting a bit annoyed that there was so many plans to get the notebook back but when I was reading the last chapter I was nearly crying at the end at how cute it was. But to be fair it is 3am and my emotions are heightened at this time 😂 but overall an...

Mourn8220House:
When first reading "Avarice," I thought it would be another fairytale but I was taken back the author's approach and choice of ending. There is little to be said for the story and overall plot besides the sudden twists and speculation, other than that I do not want to ruin a fantastic tale, you m...

Stephen Warner:
To start off, I am thoroughly impressed. The writing style is somewhat unique, and the plot seemed to move at a nice and steady pace. However, I was not expecting this to be a vampire book! I am usually not one for novels about vampires, but I was pleasantly surprised! You wrote with such grace a...

Alex Rushmer:
This was not what I expected, but I enjoyed it a lot Malfoy was always one of the characters that I liked a lot, so I like that a lot of this happens between him and Colette. I read the first couple chapters, and I enjoyed your writing style and am excited to see where you take this story. My com...

Alani Foreigner:
I absolutely loved how you created this story. It isn't like the other cliché stories I've ever read. I had just started reading it yesterday and just had to finish it. The main characters are grotesquely awesome and I fell in love with them. If you're into fantasy and stuff I can guarantee that ...

JWalker:
I loved this story from start to finish! It flows at a really nice pace and the story world feels so real. The fight sequences are a treat especially when Isanfyre is training to become a warrior. I found the names really cool and thankfully easy to pronounce. Personally I have always struggled w...

Jade Niday:
This book has a really great plot. The author really makes you feel connected to the main character. There are twist around every corner you never see coming.. Great read for sure and I can't wait to see what happens next.

ernbelle:
When I first started this story I was a little unsettled by all of the information that appears in the prologue, and wasn't sure if I would continue. However, I am very glad I did. The plot was very well thought out and really interesting. There were not any page breaks or markers to acknowledge ...

genlynne2379:
I read the other review of this book and I must say that I disagree with it wholeheartedly. I do not believe the author put the apostrophes in the names just to be unique, but because the characters are supposedly of a different race than humans. They are Anmah. They should have different names a...

Jessica Esa:
With a tantalising end to the first chapter, the authour has given us a treat and a welcome addition to the fantasy adventure genre. To limit it to just such would be an injustice however, as this novel clearly draws on elements of historical fiction, fairy tale and horror. Simply, there's someth...

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